


I'd Burn You

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, I'm Going to Hell, So smutty, except not ashamed at all, kind of ashamed, like so much sex, not safe for work, or anywhere really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the interim between faking her death and coming back, Irene Adler spent some time in Florence with a very bad man who liked to do very bad things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Burn You

**Author's Note:**

> So this is so different from my usual work, I know. I apologize. Proceed with caution and all that.
> 
> The backstory is my friends and I had a porn-writing competition. I won, by the way. This is my submission.

Irene didn’t deal well with people standing her up. She didn’t do well with people _in general_ unless it was in the bedroom, tied up and gagged, and the café in Italy was as far from her usual bedroom as she could manage.

“Where are you?” she hissed into the phone, her heels making resounding clicks against the cobbled streets of Florence.

“My dear Irene,” the voice on the phone chided and she bristled. “Do I detect a bit of _desire_ in that voice?”

“Come off it,” she laughed. “I simply don’t appreciate people keeping me waiting.”

Jim Moriarty sighed across the cell phone. “For a dead woman you make an awfully large amount of demands.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” she smiled as her feet led her to the abandoned apartment off the side-street. “I fooled the great Sherlock Holmes into believing I’m dead, I do believe I’ve earned a holiday.”

“There’s still a ways to go, oh sweet Irene-“ Moriarty droned and was cut off by the door to his rather secret layer slamming open and the face of London’s prized dominatrix appearing in the doorway.

“You really must get better at hiding your locations,” Irene dismissed before closing the door and locking it. She sashayed over to the desk, where Jim sat watching videos stolen off CCTVs, specifically the ones on Baker Street.

“How is our little Sherly doing?” she asked, leaning on the back of his chair, her breath warming his neck above his collar.

“As well as to be expected,” Moriarty sighed, leaning back. “Still keeps that _pet_ of his around.”

“Must drive you crazy,” Irene teased, coming around to lean against the desk. Jim suddenly realized how _tight_ her clothes were, black and lacy as was to be expected and it was only years in self-control that kept the psychopath from flushing. “Knowing that mere human is fucking your prize.”

“They aren’t fucking,” Jim insisted and Irene only leaned closer, her breath hot against his air, her chest a clean line down.

“Yes, but they could,” she reminded him in a whisper. “He has a better chance than you do, by miles.”

Jim turned on her, getting up. “What about you then? Must drive you just as wild.”

“Naturally,” she shrugged, crossing her knees. “How pathetic are we? The two people who want nothing more than to fuck that pale Adonis into the mattress, stuck in an apartment with each other for company.”

Jim clucked his tongue. “It would never work Irene. I must always be in control and you’re a dominatrix.”

But Irene was not a woman easily deterred. “You must wonder, what it’s like… to lose control,” she said lavishly, her eyes trailing hot lines up and down the genius’s body. “What it’s like to just… let things happen _to_ you.”

“I could say the same for you,” he offered as she got up, stalking towards him with malicious intent.

“Kiss me Jim,” she ordered, inches from his mouth, her small red one grinning at him. “I won’t fight. Just for a taste, you know, before I chain you up by your ankles.”

“And do what, beat me?” he taunted, coming in closer. “You should know Irene, I kill people who beat me.”

“Promises, promises,” she tsked and then suddenly she was kissing him, crushing her mouth against Moriarty's and taking him by surprise. Her right hand twisted painfully through his hair, just a bit of pain to go with his pleasure, so she could force Jim's head to go wherever she wanted. Her knee suddenly came up sharp between the villain’s legs, rubbing just hard enough to prompt a low and hard-won moan out of the psychopath.

Irene's lips moved with precision and power as she mouth-fucked Jim, crushing and molding him to fit what she wanted. She was going to take this man, with all his power, and turn him into nothing more than her very own sex slave. Her tongue invaded Jim's mouth and claimed it as her own, tracing his gums before sliding back to rub against his own tongue. She let them stay, as equal players, for two seconds before she pushed back his tongue in dominance and claimed his mouth as her kingdom.

And then she was gone, pausing only to nip hard at Jim's lips, tugging against the soft skin, before pulling it back and letting it go with a resounding snap.

“Interesting,” the psychopath murmured, rubbing at his lip thoughtfully. “My turn.”

Irene had only a second to breathe before she was suddenly up against the wall, one hand needing painfully at her breast, the other pinned above her head and Jim Moriarty grinned down at her like a cat fallen into cream.

“I shall love destroying you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her face. “I’m going to fuck you right open, split you in half, make you _beg._ Have you ever begged before?”

And then his mouth was at her neck, licking his way down to bite hard enough to leave marks, tongue laving over the red skin in a parody attempt to soothe it before biting it again. Irene's head tipped back, thumping into the wall as Moriarty tried desperately to push her over the edge.

Irene took advantage of her suddenly free mouth to choke out, “Take off your belt.”

“Make me,” he hissed and Irene took it as a challenge fucking accepted. The hand not pinned to the wall came up to raise Jim’s face to hers. She bit down on his lower lip and set to firmly distracting him as her free hand loosened his belt in two fluid steps. Her tongue had just swept against his, hitting it into submission, when she released the bet and cracked it like a whip, the sound reverberating in the silence.

“Come on Jim,” she whispered, licking up the shell of his ear. “Let yourself lose control for once.”

“What would you do to me, Irene?” he teased, not even a hitch in his breath as she tugged at the soft lobe, biting it hard. “Would you chain me? Whip me? Tell me I’d been a bad boy?”

“I’d burn you,” she told him and he froze, surprised. “I’d tie you up to a chair and light you on fire. Let you scream and scream until I saved you and then fucked you.”

He smiled at her then, broad and real. “I knew there was a reason I tolerated you,” he grinned wickedly and then he was hoisting her skirt above her thighs, leaving her bottom utterly bare.

“No underwear?” he tsked. “How utterly naughty.”

“I abhor panty lines,” she confessed, not remotely ashamed as she slid out from under him, walking easily to the desk. It was like something out a teenage wet dream, as the creamy brunette sauntered over, her dress high around her waist, her six inch heels still on.

 It took one flick of her arm to send his papers sprawling on the floor and then she climbed on, still holding his belt in one hand, and shamelessly spread her legs.

“Come on Jim,” She mocked, snapping her makeshift whip. “You promised to make me beg.”

Jim looked at her then, like she was amusing and nothing more, a simple way to pass the time before his attack on Mycroft, and she knew that she would utterly enjoy tonight.

He came over and sat on his haunches before putting his lips to her pubis, his tongue flicking against her and eliciting a startled gasp of pleasure as it passed over her clit. He kissed his way back up her body, spending a few burning moments of pure pleasure kneading at her breasts biting at her had nipples beneath her skin-tight clothing, before coming back up to her throat and finally, back to her mouth. His hand pressed domineeringly between her legs, a long finger gently slid over her clit, sliding easily over aroused flesh, and then sinking into the wet heat between her thighs.

“You utter _tease_ ,” she hissed between his lips as his finger worked at her. Dear _lord_ , the man knew what he was doing with his fingers.

“I do recall being promised begging,” he reminded her sharply, biting down on her neck and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Oh please Jim,” she teased in her most petulant tone. “Please, fix it for me.”

“Try again,” he chided, licking over the swelling bruise and trailing down and inch to start on another.

It was wrong, so wrong, to cede any sort of dominance to this megalomaniac but she had to see, had to _know_ just how far he would go.

“Eat me out, Jim,” she whimpered, taking on the tone her clients always did as they begged to be allowed to come. “Make me shake so bad I cry when I come in your mouth.”

“Better,” he smiled against her throat and then he bent his head down, pushing his face between her slender thighs. She felt his tongue gently flick over her clit. It was a little touch, and it drove her nearly wild. She wanted more _more_ as one finger, then another, slid into her heat and his tongue swirled around her clit again. Her hips bucked up and she whimpered and moaned at the same time, egging him on. She would never admit that she, master of domination, was honestly _impressed_ at the raw skill the villain was displaying. He smiled against her body, kissing her and moving his mouth so that his tongue could join his fingers in entering her, lapping at her, drinking her.

Irene moaned and writhed and panted, letting herself get closer to the edge as his tongue intimately probed her body. She ground her hips hard against the fingers he was working in and out of her. She was inches from climax, he could feel her body tensing all too soon and he didn’t move as she came, moaning loud enough to wake half of Florence, on his face. As she shuddered to completion, he lifted his head to thrust his tongue between her lips, kissing her passionately.

“Can you taste yourself?” he asked huskily. “Does it taste as good to you?”

“I suspect you’d like me to return the favor,” she choked out and they both looked down to where Moriarty’s erection pressed hard against her naked thigh.

“If I do,” she ordered, jumping down and not bothering to adjust her dress, leaving her legs dripping slightly with a mix of her own juices and Moriarty’s spit. “We do it by my rules. Understood?”

The genius nodded swiftly and Irene couldn’t help the wicked grin that spread across her face.

“Hands,” she ordered and wordlessly he held them out, wrists together.

“Behind you,” she sighed and he did, turning around. Irene took the belt in her hands and laced the hands together, tighter than strictly necessary. “Now on the desk.”

He sat on the desk, on the very spot she’d come on his face seconds ago, and watched through heavy lidded eyes as Irene unbuttoned his pants, lifting his hips so that she could slide them down his legs to his ankles. For a second, all she did was rest her cheek against the front of his boxers, her breath hot through the fabric, and he needed, desperately.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” she pushed, licking one long stripe through the cotton. “You want so desperately for me to touch you, but you can’t make me, can you? Can’t push my head down. Can’t even pull your pants off.”

She began to mouth him through his boxers and when he let slip one small keen, Irene raised herself to slap him hard across the face.

“You make noise when I say you can make noise. You moan when I say you can moan. And you come when I give you permission to come. Understood?”

He looked at her, apparently impressed by her dominatrix voice, and with an all-suffering eye roll, nodded.

“Good boy,” she whispered, stroking his cheek, and then lowered herself to the floor in her six inch heels, keeping her thighs open to give the genius something of a view.

She tugged his pants off, letting them pool by his trousers, and surveyed her work area.

“Not terrible,” she declared and before Jim could say anything smart, she licked her tongue up the underside of Jim’s cock causing the villain to draw a sharp breath through his teeth. She licked it just under the tip where he was most sensitive and then repeated the motions again and again, not enough pressure to let him come, just enough to get him exciting.

“Fuck- _Irene_ ,” Moriarty moaned and Irene immediately backed off.

“Did I give you permission to speak?” she asked, her voice dangerously low and Moriarty shook his head. “Then don’t talk.”

And with that she took the genius full in her mouth. She dug her thumbs painfully into his thighs as her tongue dipped into the slit of his cock, nudging gently and sucking just a drop harder. She could hear Moriarty above her try and suppress a moan and she rewarded his effort by scraping her teeth along the side of his cock, bobbing easily and forced a strangled hiss from Jim.

 For a minute, Irene simply kept on mouthing at him, her tongue working the head of his cock sinfully.  And then, without warning, she slid her mouth down the rest of his length and pushed her nose into the wiry hair around Jim’s groin, making sure the genius could see.

“Oh _fuck_ , that’s beautiful,” Moriarty groaned, ignoring her rules. “For a lesbian, you’re such a cock whore.”

Irene started to chide him, her mouth vibrating around his length, and Moriarty just chuckled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full Irene, it’s rude,” he laughed and then his hands were in her hair, twisting and pulling painfully, pushing her head down impossibly farther.

The mad genius had broken out of his own belt.

She felt like she was choking but Irene hadn’t always been a dominatrix. She’d started this game as a sub, learning how to be obedient and thinking she loved it, before someone handed her a whip by accident and she’d found a new passion.

She swallowed, the pressure unbelievably tight, and Moriarty let out a groan too loud to be faked. His hands gripped at her hair and she reached down to dug at his balls, keeping him from climax. He tugged her hair in punishment and she pushed off, showing her strength.

“You come-“ she gasped around a mouth of flesh, “inside me. Not in my mouth.”

With a growl so feral it thrilled her, the psychopath pushed her down. She landed flat on her back and he was above her in seconds, straddling her.

“Now,” he ordered, pupils dilated beyond recognition.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she chided, but the madman was done talking. He pushed inside her, riding her fast and rough, rubbing at her clit so painfully it felt like burning. He was lucky she _loved_ pain, or she would have killed him with one of the various weapons still concealed on her person, despite being half-dressed.

“Are you ready, Jim?” she moaned, loud and visceral, and it drove him over the edge. “You’re so close, you slut. You’re just a pleasure slut, aren’t you?”

He was close, inches away, and Irene knew just how to push him over, just how to make him scream.

“Don’t you wish I was Sherlock right now?” she taunted, licking her lips as he pounded into her. “Can’t you imagine it? My black hurl a mess, all sweat-soaked, my little cupid-bow lips begging for your cock, pleading your name. Jim, Jim, _oh Jim. You brilliant man. You outsmarted me._ ”

Moriarty came with a shout, and she followed seconds after, both of them screaming Sherlock’s name out into the empty lair.

He collapsed against her, breathless. Impatient, she pushed him off and stood, unconcerned as semen ran down the inside of her thigh.

“Tell me you have cigarettes,” she demanded and wordlessly he pointed her to the desk. She found them in the top drawer, unlocked of course. Who would even think to break into Moriarty’s apartments? She pulled out one and lit it, taking a long drag.

“We really are pathetic, aren’t we?” she mused, sitting herself on the desk and smoking serenely, watching the Florence sun set outside the large window.

“And we love it,” he grinned at her wickedly from the floor and she tossed him the pack and a lighter.

She blew out a ring of smoke. “Not gonna lie, you’re not bad. For a man,” she added and he shrugged good-naturedly.

“I assume we’ve reached a deal?” he prompted, lighting one himself.

Irene grinned at him. “Oh yes. I’ll have that plane flight decoded for you in two weeks. And I have just the plan to do it.”

She stood, pulling her dress down and straightening her hair. “Be a dear and call me a cab, love,” she grinned, all feral cat and lust. “It’s time I came back from the dead.”

 


End file.
